


Distance

by bootson



Series: Among Some Talk of You and Me [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the news breaks, they're already over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance

**Author's Note:**

> [Irony](http://archiveofourown.org/works/327876)
> 
> from Zach's perspective.

 

“Yeah? Hold on. Noah! Stop. It’s a cat, you know, like Harold. You like cats.”

At some point in life, Zach would learn that juggling his phone, coffee, and Noah’s leash was troublesome at best. Tightening his grip, he contained the struggling dog until the offensive feline vanished, slipped the leash over his wrist, redistributed the cup to that hand and lifted his phone back to his ear.

“Sorry, Anton. What’s up?” The grin was, of course, evident in his voice. He wasn’t exactly sure how someone could hear a smile, but he’d heard that his was particularly loud several times, no matter that it was always from the _same_ person, so he accepted it.

“I…have you talked to Chris?”

Freezing, Zach’s grip tightened on the phone. Noah whipped around to glare at him for interrupting his walk. “No. I hear he’s on set somewhere.”

Where had he even heard that? Was it some celebrity news show he’d accidentally watched for a few minutes? Did Zoe or Karl let him in on it? Had Chris known his schedule before…just _before_? Was it mentioned when he saw Chris at a party not too long ago? Zach deliberately willed his feet to move, shaking the fuzzy haze from his consciousness.

Their mutual friends, Anton included, knew Chris and Zach had fallen apart. Mostly, no one asked anymore. Supposedly, no one wanted to see Chris get _that_ look or hear Zach take _that_ tone. If Anton was willing to evoke this theoretical wrath the situation must be serious.

“Okay, look, Zach. Man, I wanted to tell him first. But…First, I’m sorry. Like _really_ fucking sorry. And maybe it’ll be nothing, right? But I want you guys prepared for it and Karl sort of threatened my life if I didn’t give you the heads up. Which I would have done anyway; he was just being an indignant fucker.”

Sighing, Zach tugged at Noah’s leash to force a retreat. Anton was adorable; really, Zach could just cuddle the kid to death sometimes. Other times, however, Zach tuned him out. He was trying to focus, feeling that this must be important since it not only involved Chris, but Karl was backing it and there was some sort of apology lacing the monologue. Then again, Zach wasn’t sure he’d actually heard an apology with Anton rambling so damn quickly.

“Take a breath, man. What’s going on?”

“Someone stole my laptop.” Each word was over enunciated in a way Zach rarely associated with the boy. The tempo was confusing, but also the fact that Anton thought it imperative that he know this.

“I’m sorry? That sucks.”

“No, Zach, listen, it’s…it has…compromising pictures on it. Of you and Chris, among others.”

His stomach flipped, steps faltered, Noah nearly tugged him face first into the concrete. How many times had Zach told him to pick a password? He was still too young to acknowledge all the safety procedures required when dealing with technology, but Zach had tried anyway. Apparently, it had been to no avail. And this is what type of consequences ignoring Zach’s advice garnered.

Trying to keep his voice calm almost worked. Instead of uncharacteristically and profanely insulting Anton, God, and the universe at large, his voice lost volume and dropped an octave. “Fix it, Yelchin.”

The silence drifted on for a few moments while Anton presumably conjured up coherent sentences, Zach remaining immobile for the duration, much to Noah’s chagrin. He was too concerned, worried about the implications of this. If these pictures, whichever ones Anton was referring to, came out…Chris was highly possibly finished. Zach half expected his fans to rejoice, but Chris’… Anton’s voice shattered his reverie.

“I _tried_ ,” he whined, clearly miserable.

Sighing, Zach tugged at the leash and started jogging home, Noah a half-stride ahead. “Maybe it won’t come to anything. Don’t worry about it.”

Instead of being assuaged of his fears, Anton started rambling again. “But if it does, I’ll do anything to fix it. I don’t know what _I_ can do personally, but there’s got to be something.”

“Seriously, Anton. Don’t worry about it. It was an accident and right now, we’re just overreacting.”

“Hope Chris sees it that way,” the boy whispered and if Zach’s steps skipped in rhythm, for only a stride, no one of consequence was there to see.

Clearing his throat of the sudden lump, Zach forced a chuckle. “If he doesn’t, I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“You don’t talk.”

“That’s hardly the point. Take some anxiety medication and call Chris. It’s fine.”

Barely acknowledging Anton’s closing remarks, Zach cut the call and forced his mind to remain largely blank until he returned home, released Noah to harass Harold in greeting, and obtained a bottle of water.

Maybe nothing _would_ come of this; Zach could hold onto that. Unfortunately, he was a first-rate realist, transitioning seamlessly into a pessimist. These were just pictures, though. How bad could a few pictures Anton took be? Maybe he should have asked, should have really assessed the damage instead of cutting it short. He couldn’t keep up that conversation though, not in public and not while this shadow of Chris crept through space and time to settle over him again.

Zach didn’t indulge himself with thoughts of Chris often, maybe some fantasies he’d deny having, but even those were more rare than frequent now. He was moving on, attempting to, working on himself now that he was an individual again. That didn’t mean he was honest to God reveling in the space between them.

They didn’t talk, no; Zach had ensured they didn’t communicate outside necessity. That didn’t mean he didn’t succumb to unnecessary worry when Chris’ life leaned a bit closer to interesting than mundane. And this? This was kilometers away from mundane. But he was getting ahead of himself. He was panicking and Zachary Quinto did _not_ panic.

He rummaged his pockets for his phone, finger hovering over the contacts button. There was no harm in checking in on an old friend, right? But Chris wasn’t a half-wit; he’d know this was about Anton’s call. Unless he hadn’t spoken to Anton yet. He was on location, right? Maybe with a time difference? Chris was filming some new movie about terrorists or guerrilla warfare or whatever the hell it was; he really sold himself short sometimes so Zach wasn’t entirely clear on the plot line of this film.

He could Google it. Chris had some rabid fans who surely knew exactly where their favorite boy was and what exactly he was involved in. But if Zach started digging now, he may not be able to control himself. It wouldn't do if he couldn’t stop until he’d sifted through every pointless detail from coffee runs to lunch with producers on top of what he was looking for.

Distance was only effective when actively imposed mentally and emotionally as well as physically.

So he’d wait it out. Zach would focus on his involvement in half a dozen various projects and let Chris come to him. But he knew better. When Zach forced Chris out, gave him a _preposterous_ ultimatum, then ignored his attempts at closure? If Chris had internalized all his nonsense, and it was exactly that, he’d possibly take it to the extreme. Chris liked extremes, Zach knew, and this was probably no different. He wouldn’t call.

And he didn’t. Weeks passed, Zach wasn’t concerned over the arguably illustrious photos Anton had mentioned. Chris was back in L.A., according to TMZ at least; and Zach was only a touch more aware when Chris’ name was bandied about in various media outlets. He certainly hadn’t set a Google Alert or anything; not yet, though he’s been tempted for a minute.

He needn’t have been so concerned. When it happened, Zach couldn’t have avoided it if he’d tried. His publicist was all in a tizzy before Zach’s bedsheets had cooled.

“Zachary, we have a problem. I’m sending you a picture. You need to look at it. Then you need to tell me three things. What the hell were you thinking? When the hell was this? What the hell type of damage control do you want me to do?”

The questions were clipped and Zach was frowning before he opened the link she promptly emailed. His heart simultaneously dropped and sped up, mouth went dry, eyes widened. Under other circumstances, he was sure this would be comical; currently, he was too concerned with why exactly he reacted in this fashion.

It wasn’t that he was about to fall into a media feeding frenzy; well, it was, but it wasn’t. It was partially the memories that picture brought with it. Staring at the digital photograph, he _almost_ felt Chris’ hands in his hair, Chris skin under his fingertips, the press of their hips, the way Chris’ lips were always slightly chapped but so warm and yielding he couldn’t have cared. He could _almost_ feel it, but not quite. That’s how long it had been.

The memories were dimming quickly, more so than in usual situations, leaving Zach cautiously thankful. He needed to be operating at maximum functionality as he returned calls. How did he want to handle this? He didn’t have a problem admitting there had been something between Chris and himself, would have told the world a few months ago if the opportunity had been presented. But what did Chris want? That was the course Zach would take; against the professionals’ better advice, Zach told them as much. Chris could have the lead and Zach would fall into step with him, like before.

Because it had always been understood, even if they never vocally confirmed and discussed it, that Chris would be hit harder. Zach was accustomed to the speculation about his sexuality. Actually, it amused him. Chris, however, always had this tiny worry about it. If by _tiny worry_ he meant _growing paranoia_. But Chris had never let it affect _them_ ; he’d freak out over it, breathe a little, and still cuddle up to Zach, all warm hands and hot mouth, in the end. He swore he could handle it if this type of situation ever occurred.

Maybe he could, if they just dealt with it together. Zach _promised_ time and again to be there. If they received any negative backlash; they would share it the way they did everything else.

Until Zach swore he was sick of bearing the metaphorical relationship weight. Which had never been true, had it? Chris was only more obvious than Zach was when it came to leaning. But Chris was more obvious about everything while Zach was more closed off.

Unless it was around Joe, who saw through everything the way only older siblings could.

They met up for lunch, a weekly ritual barring extenuating circumstances, at some little place Joe was currently in love with. They found a table outside while Joe claimed he was a masochist, punishing himself for something completely beyond his control; Zach shrugged him off, but fell silent nearly immediately. He was jumpy, constantly checking his phone, muttering answers to direct questions but making few, if any, attempts to carry a quarter of the conversation. When he did speak without direct prompting, Zach had two topics: work and Chris Pine fueled annoyance.

“Just call him, Zach, damn,” Joe rolled his eyes, stabbing at his salad as if offended by the quality of the lettuce. Knowing Joe, he probably was.

Swirling his soda around the glass, Zach shook his head. “I can’t. If he intends to collaborate on a joint statement or scheme, he can come to me.”

“Thought you told him not to. Told him he took too much, was that it?” Joe Quinto was a crude individual when he wanted to be. Incidentally, those instances proved to be directly correlated to the times he decided Zach was in denial.

“Not exactly. Well, yes. In essence, I did say that.” Zach sighed as the wind caught at his hat for a second before settling. A camera flashed in his periphery and Zach fought the urge to flip it off by giving a halfhearted wave in that general direction. He’d been subject to substantially more cameras and commentary than usual, but he took it in stride. He remained vague, evasive, waiting for Chris to do _something_. “But Chris never accepts my complaints as literal.”

“Usually, they aren’t. You kicked him out of your life, kid. What do you want? Him to come begging advice? Probably not going to happen.” Joe paused, a gleam in his eyes which always preceded Zach deciding he deserved a broken fucking nose.

In the interests of avoiding a sibling conflict, Zach sighed and spoke to his drink. “I just need to know he’s handling this.” The conspicuously absent _how_ was not lost on the elder Quinto.

Pulling his phone out, Joe started scrolling. “I’ll just call him, say. See how he is, make sure he’s still breathing. Tell you all about it later.”

Zach stared in horror as Joe pressed buttons before lifting the black plastic to his ear. “Don’t even consider it, Joe.” He made a valiant effort to steal the phone, Joe blocking his hand with each attempt.

“Hey! How are you?” Joe paused while Zach sulked. This was cruel, utterly and totally vicious.

Admittedly, he appreciated someone speaking to Chris on his behalf but also envied Chris’ voice being _that_ close when he couldn’t hear it. You could gather a lot from Chris’ voice, subtle nuances of tone and timbre were key in giving things away. In the absence of unguarded and clear eyes, vocal cues could change perception in a second. Restraint was too hindering, irritating and Zach damned etiquette, practically climbing across the table.

“Yeah, _Mom_ , Zach’s right here,” Joe snorted as his shirt was unceremoniously introduced to the Coke soaked end of a straw. “He’s doing okay with everything….No, still hasn’t talked to him. You tell him he’s being a pain in the ass, he won’t listen to me….sorry. Yeah, no. I will…Love you, bye.”

“You’re an insufferable ass. I’m finished with you.”

“Stop being a petulant child,” Joe rolled his eyes, ignoring Zach’s pout. “Puppy eyes don’t work on me, little brother. I’m sticking to my guns.” Reaching out, he nudged Zach’s cell toward him by a few inches. “Call. Chris. You’re worried out of you fucking mind.”

“Maybe I’ll just ask Katie…”

Joe stole the phone away. “Oh yeah. Great idea, Zachary, just call up his big sister. That’s going to go really well.” Rolling his eyes, he returned the phone to the tabletop. “All in, like poker. It’s do nothing or call _him_.”

“I want to,” Zach finally admitted, chewing his lip to buy time. “But, well… He doesn’t _try_ to see me. I walked out, Joe. If he’s over that, I’m giving him all the space he wants.”

Purposefully, he avoided his brother’s gaze, knowing what he’d see there. Yes, Zach knew he was a hypocrite and he didn’t need his photographer brother with all his bull shit about _reading people_ explaining his own failed relationship to him.

Here Zach was, giving Chris his space when Zach was the one who wanted it to begin with. He’d run like a scared little girl at the first sign of commitment. All right, it wasn’t the first sign, but it was pretty fucking early on. He didn’t have a psych degree or anything, even if he read a bit too much Jung, but Zach didn’t think he could just go to Chris and ask if he needed anything. Chris had relied on him, used…no, _used_ wasn’t the proper word. Chris felt things, straight to his core, and he shared that with people.

That was just quintessentially _Chris_. Zach had a difficulty with that. He’d seen how badly Chris needed him sometimes and thought he couldn’t be everything Chris wanted, needed, begged for. Zach would, ultimately, fail him. The pain that had filled his eyes was worth avoiding the disappointment.

Disappointment was all Zach had going for him at the moment. He was disappointed over Chris’ apparent lack of propriety, not even bothering to give a real statement. He was disappointed that Chris couldn’t press a total of three buttons to call him, disappointed that he needed to hear Chris so much more than Chris apparently needed to be in any way involved with him.

Mostly, he was disappointed with the imposed distance, manifesting as detachment, which he’d sworn he needed.

It was wrong. So wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Zach didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep for a reason, but how was he supposed to be there for Chris now? How do you walk out of someone’s life, say things you know are going to strike their egos in the worst way, then just come back when you’re concerned and need the peace of mind that you didn’t ruin them?

You don’t. You don’t pick up the phone unless you have solutions. You stay away, far enough fucking away that you can’t ruin anything else. Not when anything you say will be irrelevant. Not when nothing his overactive imagination could conjure up would fix them or the impossible situation they’d unceremoniously been pitched into.

Zach forced himself to accept that and ignore this whole ordeal the way Chris was, dealing with Before the Door and paparazzi, auditions and interview requests. The interviews were mostly fielded because, he had to face it, there wasn’t anything he could say that wouldn’t make him feel and look like a prized asshole.

Which he felt like anyway when Zoe called him one morning while he was walking out the door.

“Turn on your TV!” She squealed. It wasn’t a sound of excitement but one of urgency.

“Why? I’ve things to do, woman!” He tried humor, hoping Zoe would let it go. If this was another fucking mini-expose trying to decide when Chris and Zach had eased into a romance from a motherfucking bromance, he was going to kick her. Or, at the very least, break the heels off each and every one of her shoes.

“Just…now!” She gave him the channel, the instructions punctuated by a gasp. “Zach! You have DVR, right? You can start this over? Because Chris just told the world about you.”

His blood ran cold in some combination of trepidation and adrenaline. Zoe’s enthusiasm was catching and something akin to panic was matching it for mounting intensity. Suddenly, his fingers lost their dexterity, missing the buttons and choosing a channel with only one number he’d been shooting for.

“Shit, Zoe. Give me a play by play. What’s he doing?”

There was a long pause. “Hedging and looking like he’s about to pass out. Oh, he just mocked the guy. That’s a good sign. He’s fine if he’s funny, right?”

“Not necessarily.” Chris was a pretty amusing guy, but it was a defense mechanism about 40 percent of the time. The right channel finally came up, after much channel flipping because the channel up button was the only one not too God damned small for his fingers. Zach schooled his gaze to travel only between the remote control and bottom line of the screen, restarting the show and recording. “I’ll call you back.”

“ZACH! He confirmed. Just now. You have to see this.” Her voice was higher than usual, rate of speech something Anton would envy. “God, he looks sad.”

“Stop,” he was saying without his consent. Bright, peppy music was playing as a bright, happy set and bright, shiny text filled the screen. Zach didn’t hear anything, thoughts flying too quickly. Absently, he pressed fast-forward. “Just stop. I can’t…I’ll call you. Why didn’t he tell me about this?”

Zoe was silent, possibly holding her breath, nails probably tapping the granite countertop of her newly constructed kitchen island. “Baby, I don’t think he planned this.”

“I have to…” He trailed off as he saw Chris step onto the set, waving and smiling. Zach bit down on his lip, forgetting what he was saying, and tried to piece together Zoe’s description with the images he was seeing. The conflict was obvious, as the two were polar opposites.

A strange sort of echo played across the line, reminding him Zoe was waiting, offering support via airwaves. He clicked his phone off; if anyone would understand the necessity, it was her. Falling back against the sofa, Zach tried to slouch but was too stiff for the position to be less than painful. Exaggerated posture returned while he waited.

Chris was being his typical charming self, smiling at bad jokes and telling a silly filming story. This was his element and Zach felt his chest loosen as the clip rolled. When it was over, Zach didn’t even remember the title, too attuned to his own breathing and heart rate. He let the commercials play. The appearance should have been over, experience screamed. Was Zoe joining forces with Joe to make him as uncomfortable as humanly possible?

Then it happened. The commercials ended and the interviewer was stumbling over questions. Zach leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes on Chris. His body was unnaturally rigid while he said what everyone knew, the pictures were real.

Zach’s lips twitched upward as Chris chastised the guy for assuming there was a falling out over the photo leak. Immediately after, everything changed.

The question involved their lack of public acknowledgment over the issue and Chris face, God…his eyes, slipped from distant for just a second. If you didn’t know what to look for, it would pass for thought. No, it was guilt.

_"Well...we don't see each other much anymore...haven't discussed this. Probably should have, you know, to get on the same page. But we aren't, uh, together anymore and, well, what can you do?"_

Nails biting into his palms, Zach tried not to let his self-anger consume him too much, tried to retain focus. Without realizing it, he inhaled sharply, holding the air in his lungs when Chris was asked where they went wrong. This would surely show the world what a selfish bastard Zach Quinto could be; which was exactly what he deserved.

Even on screen, Zach saw the resolve set in. Chris steeled himself, eyes trained forward instead of toward the camera or the rookie show host, Zach wanted to analyze the shade of blue but something was always lost in translation. Chris blinked for a too long moment, thinking, concentrating, before he looked up toward nothing again. Something was there. Zach wouldn’t dare call this obstinacy, but it wasn’t just fear.

 _"We sort of...moved on? Grew apart. The typical things."_ Chris voice was too soft, giving away the lie but nearly hiding the shame. Unless you had heard it in person.

Irrationally, Zach wanted to hit something; preferably Chris for picking this moment to start making up stories, for not asking if this admission was all right. Except Zoe had been right, Chris was speaking in broken phrases and letting a little too much show on his face. He hadn’t been prepared at all; that or his publicist really was the moronic peon Chris sometimes claimed her to be.

When Zach managed to derail the introspection, Chris was saying _"I don't like labels. Call me bisexual if you have to, but I don't classify myself that way."_ Zoe must have been enraptured by that, but, in the grand scheme, Zach couldn’t hear the words so much as memorize Chris’ expression.

The very second the topic changed from _them_ back to _him_ , Chris visibly relaxed. The returning grin was a punch straight to his solar plexus, leaving Zach staggered and shaky. Chris was completely, utterly, irrevocably, unfailingly selfless.

And Zach was a jack ass who had broken his heart and turned his back on him. That stopped now, this very second. At least, it would have, if Zach’s phone hadn’t buzzed to alert him that leaving any later would make him late for a plethora of things he couldn’t focus on anymore.

But, like the good little professional he was, Zach managed. Maybe he snapped a bit more than usual, but no one mentioned it. If he looked far away for a second once in awhile, no one mentioned that, either. In gratitude, Zach ignored the collective sigh of relief when he exited rooms and buildings even though the pressure was building to disastrous and distracting levels by the time he was in his car that evening.

He never made it home, dialing Chris while the engine hummed.

“Yeah?” Was possibly the greeting, but it was half muffled.

"Chris? Hey, um...It's Zach." He should have planned this better.

There was some shuffling before Chris spoke again. “Uh…hey. How are you?”

Zach wasn't remotely concerned with his own well-being at the moment. “The question is, how are _you_?”

“Asked you first.” Still petulant, at least that meant he hadn’t done a personality overhaul recently.

“I’m not the one who spent the day outing myself on national television,” he spoke slowly. Yes, Chris found the tone infuriating, but Zach had a perverse desire to pull emotion from him, make them feel closer together. “The question stands.”

“I don’t know, Zach, okay? Is that what you fucking wanted to hear?” The words bled together, tone sharp and biting. Oh, yeah. Chris wasn’t half as well-adjusted as he was letting on.

Cloth rustled together again, pulling another indulgent sigh from Zach’s lips. “Stop fidgeting, please.”

The answering sound was nothing short of a squeak. “How do you kn-“

“You always fidget when you’re upset.” Even though Chris was trying to snap and push him away, Zach forced the issue. If Chris had forgotten just how well Zach knew him, he was about to be re-familiarized with that notion. “Can I come over?”

“No!” Was that growled? Zach thought it qualified as a very not-Chris-growl. Maybe he was more irritated than Zach anticipated. “Look, I’ve caused enough of a freak show for one day, don’t you think?” A pause followed, in which Zach literally bit his tongue to avoid correcting the self-deprecating comment. “Are you driving?”

“Yes.”

“Call me later. We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is. Just…” His breathing was _just_ off, somewhere between hysterical and pissed. Zach wasn’t happy with the direction this was going, not when he could hear Chris’ struggle and _see_ the younger man’s eyes squeezed shut while he picked at his nails. “Go home. I’ll get back to you later. Let me work this out right now, okay?”

“No.”

“Zach. I’ve got this. The paps are crawling all over. Save yourself, man.” The humor fell flat in both tone and reception.

“No.”

Honestly, he felt worse hanging up on Chris than he had Zoe. Clearly, Chris had been miserable; both that morning and just now. He was angry, overwhelmed, and God only knew what else. Zach wasn’t allowing this to continue.

There was a too large gap between them, a void Zach couldn’t let grow any wider. Not if he planned on convincing Chris that, yes, they would be fine. _He_ would be fine. Because clearly, Chris was all alone right now and he didn’t do lonely well. If Zach had to jump through hoops to keep a fucking promise, he’d do it. Because he was, more or less, the whole reason Chris was trying to avoid asking for anything.

Plan formulating as he altered his present course with a last minute right-hand turn, Zach nodded to himself. If Chris wouldn’t lean across the chasm for what he needed, consequently what Zach wanted, there was one last option available: bridging the distance himself.


End file.
